


It's the hope that kills you

by nottimagiche



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Tottenham Hotspur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 06:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17657585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nottimagiche/pseuds/nottimagiche
Summary: Set in late January 2019, Eric and Dele are teammates with some issues to resolve. Many references to real events, some strong language.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in late January 2019, Eric and Dele are teammates with some issues to resolve. Many references to real events, some strong language.

To Dele, Eric remained a mystery.

Even after four years, he still couldn’t quite figure out the slightly older man, the way Eric could be both calm and storm, quiet and fury, giddy and brooding. Like Jekyll and Hyde in one man. Dele knew both sides quite well but he didn’t really care for how the brooding, stormy, upset side was raising its ugly head more and more these days. Not so much of Mr Gregarious anymore, all the more “let me show you Mr Sociable”.

Yes, Eric had been ill and it surely had been a major player in the Dier melancholy but still, even after recovery, Dele couldn’t ignore the doom and gloom that surrounded Eric on a daily basis. Like a black aura, black like his clothes, black like his car, black like the garden furniture in his back yard.

Dele smiled to himself, imagining the furniture covered in a white sheet of snow after the chilly few days in London. That'll teach him.

And there were speckles of white with Eric, at Hotspur Way the smile was still there, the giddiness, the high-pitched giggles Dele couldn’t get enough of. At training, the smile that brought the deepening smile lines to the corners of his eyes and Dele couldn’t get enough. Or the silliness that always sprang out of the blue, in the dressing room goofing around or beckoning him with snow balls, it never ceased to surprise Dele.

There used to be so much more of that. That goofy grin, the giggle that always tugged at the veins circling around Dele’s heart, the willingness to partake in any nonsense Dele suggested. Not so much of that anymore and Dele hated it. Partly his own fault, yes, but he still hated it.

The strangest part of it was that at the World Cup they had been amazing, the build-up to the tournament and the whole month there, everything was great between them. The highs were so high and lows so very low but they were together through it, Tottenham boys making all the noise everywhere they go.

Dele smiled to himself again, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he sat on his plush sofa, waiting for the Watford match to begin. He wasn’t good at being alone at home, he would quickly turn into a mess thinking about all the things that were wrong in his life rather than focusing on all the brilliant things. He needed his crew around, Harry at least, to keep him focused, keep his mind away from the doom and gloom.

No Dier in the starting XI, Dele noticed as he gave his hamstring a stretch on the sofa. Cue more doom and gloom from the Dier direction, he sighed slowly. With no pre-match message on WhatsApp, Dele had figured out the omission in advance. Yes Winksy and Moussa were playing well but what the gaffer didn’t realise was that leaving Eric on the bench was another bag packed at the man’s house, another memento given away from his locker.

Dele had never been so sure Eric was plotting to leave and instead of asking him directly, he let it eat away at him.


	2. Chapter 2

Dele blamed the summer.

Yes the World Cup was amazing, the highlight of his career so far but playing until early July meant a ridiculously short holiday. One he had to share with his obligations rather than taking time to reconnect with Eric. Now it was all Hollywood with the lads and sunny shores with Ruby when he would have given anything for blue shorts again rubbing against a Jeep windshield in Mykonos, the stupid arse and his hysterical giggles and fuck if that wasn’t the best trip Dele had even been on. Or Dele would have gladly joined Eric in Portugal, the be all and end all of Eric’s existence but no, he had to suffice with pictures of tanned bodies, boats, beaches, his boys and the lads. Eric had his own crew and Dele was painfully aware he wasn’t really part of it.

After all, they were so different. Maybe they only had football to connect them because God knows in any other line of work, they wouldn’t have had anything in common. Polar opposites, almost.

Slim and large. Adidas and Nike. Culture and the streets. Eric’s siblings went to Oxford or uni in the States, Dele’s berated him on Instagram. Try as one might, you always take your past with you, Dele sighed as he shifted his position on the sofa. Eric’s just happened to be a shiny golden spoon up his ass, and his own a punch in the fucking throat.

And yet here they were, rich, famous, talented, hard-working and on the cusp of a change Dele couldn’t quite put his finger on but he was petrified. They had been changing, little by little over the years, it wasn’t fully visible, more like an evolution but not in a good way. How simple life was back when he first joined Spurs. Everything was new but simple; do this, go there, just be on time and work your ass off to show them you belong, that you’re good enough to be there. Eric was the same back then: do this, work hard, play well, improve, enjoy, all of it. How simple and glorious, before it all became so complicated.

Back then Eric was the consummate buddy, game for a laugh, a cinema visit, a trip to the arcade, backyard basketball, all of it. Maybe it was as much about being a big brother to Dele as it was being mates, Dele often wondered. Eric was, after all, good at being big brother, and with Eddie and Paddy growing up and moving on, maybe Eric just needed another little lad to hang out with. This was Dele’s angry version of their friendship, one he had visited too frequently in recent months.

He didn’t really believe it because it had all been so pure at the beginning, like the bloody planets aligning and bringing them together but it was so different now.

All the changes sucking the life out of their prematurely aging bodies, with failing tendons and heavy hearts. Sometimes Dele would hear Eric in the Hotspur Way toilets, hearing the languid movement of his hand against hardened skin culminating in a muffled sigh and when Eric emerged from the cubicle, there was no joy or pleasure on his face, just a deepening of the worry lines across his forehead. He wasn’t embarrassed Dele had caught him, he was just… sad.


	3. Chapter 3

Friday at the training ground before the Newcastle match was an ominous end to a horrible week. Fuck Chelsea, calling themselves Pride of London with one home-grown player in their side, Dele seethed. And fuck Palace with their shit ground, noisy as fuck, enjoy this win because it’s the only thing you’ll have all season. He had said some of these out loud, unusual behaviour for him, and had been met with tuts and pats on the shoulder. Dele wanted trophies, even though the gaffer didn’t, not this season because it was all about survival. Survival also meant culling what the gaffer thought was dead weight so say goodbye to Mousa, to GK, who knows who else before they would reach next August. Dele didn’t like change.

He made his usual way towards the physios’ room, the afternoon quieting down as training had ended and the lads were headed home. Second session for him again, not that he needed one but wanted one. He had to be back for the Champions League, no arguments or options.

The radio was on in the background, quietly, playing the Top 40 hits he didn’t really care for but endured. Dele always brought his own headphones but usually preferred to chat with the physios, whoever was on duty that day, it made the painful mangling of his muscles somehow more tolerable.

He recognised the tall pale form lying face down on one of the massage tables, bare torso covered by a towel and bare calves peaking from the other end. There was no one working on him so Dele gestured at the still form.

“Is he dead?”

Martin, one of the bald-headed professional wranglers of limbs, tendons and joints, snorted quietly.

“Fell asleep on the table, barely touched him and he was out.”

What in some previous years would have been a source of endless ribbing and amusement, now made Dele desperately sad. He shared a look with Martin that indicated they both felt the same way.

“Listen, I’m due to pick up my little girl from school, I didn’t have the heart to wake him but I can’t leave him in case he rolls off the table”, Martin said, reaching for his jacket. “Would you mind—“

“Leave it to me”, Dele said. “It would take a miracle for that much weight to roll off a table but I’ll keep watch.”

“Great”, Martin exhaled. “Andy is coming for you soon, I think he’s with the coaching staff now.”

“Yeah, I’m early”, Dele sat down on the massage table next to Eric’s sleeping form. “Just antsy to get more work done.”

“I know Del, but you’re making great progress”, Martin said as he parted and left the two men alone in the quiet hum of the radio.

Dele looked at the sleeping form next to him, Eric’s face turned the other way. Even when sleeping he looked tense, shoulders hunched and arms tight against his sides. His feet were dangling over the end of the table, clad in black Nike socks.

Dele had a sudden urge to tip the table and send Eric flying to the floor, just to see if he could arouse a reaction, to force a confrontation of their misery but he brushed it off since injuring a teammate was quite high on the gaffer’s not-to-do list.

Teammate. Was that all? All that they were?

The tune on the radio changed into one of a quicker variety and the beat thumped around the room. Dele could see Eric stirring, his arms dropping down as he realised where he was.

“Hey, don’t fall off, you’re on the massage table”, Dele said and Eric slowly turned his head to face him. Eric blinked a few times, trying to lose the sleep from his eyes. He looked bloody awful.

“Well don’t you look like death warmed up”, Dele tried to make light of the situation before he saw Eric was having none of it.

“Are you sick?” Dele followed quickly.

“No—“, Eric cleared his throat, “no. But clearly not looking to your liking.”

Dele couldn’t tell if Eric was joking or serious. Another thing in the long list of things that had changed.

“Where’s Martin?” Eric continued before Dele could reply.

“He had to leave, apparently you fell asleep as soon as you hit the table so he couldn’t work on you or leave you in case you fell down.”

“So it’s Dele to the rescue, eh?” Eric rose up on the table, the towel falling down to the floor as he swung his legs to sit opposite Dele. Black boxer briefs to match the black socks, Dele noted as he again contemplated whether Eric was taking the piss or being genuine.

The two men looked at each other quietly, until Dele physically felt something snap inside of him, relieved it wasn’t his hamstring again but perhaps something more important.


	4. Chapter 4

“Do you hate me?” Dele asked, dark eyes fixed on blue ones and he could see the flash of panic as his words registered.

“What?” Eric’s reply was quick and quiet.

“I’m trying to figure out why we’re like this”, Dele continued, his gaze still fixed on Eric’s face. “Why we don’t talk anymore, why you’re cold and grumpy as fuck, what is going on in that head of yours and why you won’t talk to me, like I’m nothing.”

Eric’s pulse had quickened, Dele could tell from the way his chest rose more rapidly but words were slower to emerge, like always.

“You’re not nothing”, Eric said, shifting on the table, running his hands on his bare knees.

Dele took the cue, got up, walked to the room door and clicked it locked. They were doing this now, no turning back. Andy was due in half an hour, hopefully by then there wasn’t too much of a scene anymore. Hopefully no fatalities.

“So this is when you strangle me, eh Del?” Eric chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

“Shut the fuck up Dier, you listen to me”, Dele snarled as he approached the seated man again, whose face quickly turned sombre. Dele remained standing, pacing.

“I get that things are not the same they were four years, three years ago, I get it”, Dele started, his eyes darting around the room, not strong enough to hold Eric’s gaze as he was trying to build the courage to really do this, was he really doing this? 

“I get it, you’re different, I’m different, I’m not your little mate anymore, you never go anywhere with me anymore, whenever I invite you somewhere, you never show up.”

“You mean the Boohoo thing”, Eric ventured.

“Yes the Boohoo thing”, Dele picked up speed, “how many lads were there and you weren’t?”

“That was last May”, Eric sighed, “you know we had time off before the World Cup, you know I was away.”

“Still, you should’ve been there, it was important to me.”

Eric looked at Dele still pacing in front of him. “You’ve kept this with you for, what, eight months?”

Dele stopped to look at Eric, quietly seething. “Let me tell you what else I’ve kept with me.”

The anger seeping from Dele’s frame was beginning to feel contagious and it made Eric’s blood rise. “So all this now is how I’ve been a bastard to you, is that right?” Eric raised his voice. “How I’ve upset you, is that it?”

“Yes, you listen to me, then you can say whatever the fuck you want”, Dele snapped and Eric backed away, recognising they were clearly doing this now. All of it.

“So the World Cup, it’s fantastic, time of our lives, yeah?” Dele continued and Eric sussed he was about to be served many months’ worth of grievances. “Afterwards, how many summers have we gone somewhere together, eh? How many times and I’m hoping, I’m begging and pleading in my tiny brain, maybe this year he will invite me to Portugal, eh, maybe finally this year.” Dele paused for a moment to check if this was registering with Eric.

“But no!” Dele exclaimed, slamming the massage table next to Eric’s thigh for impact. “Noo, silly little Dele, no room for Dele on the Dier boat squad, I’ll let you go to Ibiza with your lads and then to Portugal to your family, you can make all the plans you want.”

“You. Were. Going. To. America”, Eric spoke hissing between his teeth, the fury in the room infectious.

“Only after you had made your own plans!” Dele yelled.

“Jesus Christ”, Eric exhaled. “If you want to come to Portugal, then you can fucking tell me you want to go to Portugal!” he raised his voice in return.

“That’s not the point, you should know that without me telling you! You should’ve asked me!”

Dele’s voice cracked a little at the end, the yelling putting a strain on his whole body and he took a deep breath as Eric rubbed his forehead.

“Well sorry I didn’t ask you”, Eric offered in feigned conciliation. “We’d been in Russia for five weeks, we had two fucking weeks off and I’m supposed spend those with you?!” He was yelling, ready to give back the hurt with all he had. “My brothers, my cousin, my childhood friends, I don’t see them for much of the year and you get fucking needy about Portugal, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Eric was still sitting down but Dele could see the black aura pulsing around him, in sync with his laboured breathing and the angry red of his appendectomy scar.

“Your friends, your MK mates and Harry, you see them every week, your little hangouts at your house, do you ever invite me?”

“You wouldn’t come if I did, they’re not quite your hoity-toity scene, are they?” Dele spat back.

Eric could see where this was headed and he took a breath to calm down. “I can’t believe we’re doing this”, he said, looking straight at Dele, who had a slight pang of guilt for where he was headed but hey, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“Yea we’re doing this, I’ve been waiting six months to do this.”

“Go on then”, Eric sighed.

“Before Christmas, I gave everyone loads of Leo Fortis gear, beanies, caps, I clearly remember giving you black ones and tan and green and NOT. ONCE. have I see you wear them. Not once.”

“You know I’m not a logo guy, Del, you know this”, Eric offered.

“It’s not about the logo, it’s about you supporting me!” Dele’s voice cracked again at the end and he hated it, hated the weakness of it.

“I’ve told you how proud I am of you, that you’re doing this with Harry, the sponsor deals, all of it, it’s you but you know it’s not me”, Eric tried to soothe the mood. “I don’t want to be in the public eye like you do, you know this.” Eric shook his head slowly. "I still don't know how you and Harry talked me into that Gogglebox thing."

“OK, forget public eye”, Dele picked up speed again, “your birthday. I only go and offer to throw you a party, all the lads, all the lasses, everyone, and you say no.”

“Dele—“

“I offer to throw you a party, here’s me hoping you’ll love it and then you say, no thanks I’m off to Portugal, fuck you Dele and your party.”

Eric sighed again. He knew this was a sore spot for Dele, he thought they had talked this through already but clearly not.

“We had two days off, you know I go to Portugal if we have two days off, you know this.”

“I know that but would it kill you to not go sometimes?” Dele huffed. “Like for your birthday, once a year?”

“Dele, Mousa was leaving us, I didn’t want to celebrate anything, I tried to tell you this.”

“I get it, you said”, Dele scoffed while feeling guilty of any disrespect towards the mighty Belgian, one of his heroes. “When GK left, you didn’t feel too bad, did you?”

“Oh my God”, Eric sighed as he rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “No, I wasn’t as friendly with GK as you but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss him now he’s gone, OK?” he shifted on the table and looked around the room.

“What are you looking for?” Dele snapped.

“A shirt, I’m getting cold.”

“You’re not getting a shirt”, Dele bossed, “you sit there and feel cold and listen.”

“In which timeline is this acceptable behaviour, Del?”

“In this one where I tell you off and you listen, got it?”

Eric stretched his neck and readied himself for more.

“And how many times have you taken a dinky private plane to Portugal—“

“Don’t do that”, Eric intervened, “don’t do that,” he shook his head.

Dele stopped talking, realising it was too much, too soon, too horrifying. “I’m sorry”, he replied. “It doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it, what if you—“

“I know”, Eric wrought his hands. “Me too.”

Their shared thought of how fleeting life could be took the wind out of Dele’s sails. He sat back down to the massage table opposite Eric’s, reached out for a t-shirt bunched at the end and threw it to the bare-chested man.

They sat in silence for a moment, the stupid fucking radio still dishing out the top tunes in the background. Dele kept looking down towards Eric’s hands, fingers laced and resting between his knees, a familiar stance, strangely comforting.

“Do you feel better?” Eric said quietly after a while.

Dele raised his eyes to meet the hooded blues. “Yes”, he offered. “And no.” Dele shrugged slightly. “Do you?”

Eric shook his head slowly. “How can I?”

The same sadness, the incessant sadness was back on Eric’s face and it tore at Dele.

“I feel like I’m losing you”, Dele said quietly.


	5. Chapter 5

Eric lowered his head in his hands, shielding his face from Dele, his hands running slowly over his short hair.

“You’re not losing me”, he said quietly, barely audibly, from somewhere between his hands.

Spurred on by this tiny confession, this tiniest of victories, Dele moved to sit next to Eric. The man’s bare thigh felt cold against his.

“You don’t have to be the hard man all the time”, Dele nudged Eric’s shoulder and he raised his head. “I know you feel like shit, it’s written all over your face, you’re increasingly looking like an old man at 25, for fuck’s sake”, Dele smiled and ran his fingers over Eric’s forehead, the worry lines deep under his skin.

The touch made Eric shiver and he lowered his head again when Dele’s fingers left his skin.

“Tell me”, Dele prodded gently.

“It’s too many things”, Eric sighed, his gaze still down.

“Start with one.”

Eric exhaled slowly and loudly, like trying to push all the evil in the world away from his body and with an intake of air he tried to summon up the courage to face the world. And Dele.

“It’s been…” he started. “It’s been such a shit storm, this autumn, this winter, you’ve seen it”, he said quietly. Dele wasn’t sure if it was a question but he nodded nonetheless.

“I don’t know why everything is going the wrong way, my career, my health, my life…”

“Hey”, Dele nudged him again, “stop that.”

“Hey”, Eric nudged him back, eyes seeking Dele’s. “It’s alright for you to tear my head off but I can’t say I how feel?”

“Sorry”, Dele offered, “you can.” The black around Eric seemed to swallow him whole.

“You said we’ve changed, Dele, and we have”, Eric continued. “In that you’re going in the right direction and I don’t know where I’m going.”

 _Don’t you leave me_ , Dele chanted in his head.

“Three-four years ago everything was going right, for you, for me, playing well for England, playing well for the team and I don’t know what I’ve done wrong that my body’s failing me, I’m barely playing for England, I’m on the fucking bench for us, what am I third, behind Moussa and Winksy, what the fuck happened.”

“You just need to build your strength—“

“No, I have strength, I have speed, have you seen me out there, I’m quicker than in a year, which for me is saying something.”

“True,” Dele smiled and tried to see if he could tempt one out of his friend. No luck.

“There’s pressure, to be better, to play better, some days I think gaffer’d be glad to sell me to China as well and my dad—“

Eric stopped for a moment but Dele already knew.

“He wants me to be better, the best, his first son, he wanted me at ManU back then, now he wants to see if I could get to Barca or Real or some other shit like that.” Eric snorted softly. “How the fuck will I get to Barca if I’m on the bench at Spurs?”

“Do you want to go to Barca?”

“No”, Eric replied, “but that won’t stop him trying or talking about it. And that I should be more present in the media, fucking social media, have you been to Twitter, those fuckers hate me.”

Dele laughed, a chuckle shook his shoulders. He wasn’t wrong, that boy.

“Yeah, you really don’t care too much for the ‘Gram either.”

“Nope”, Eric smiled. “But enough to notice you didn’t wish me happy birthday.”

“No I didn’t”, Dele admitted. “Still mad about the party. Did send you HBD on WhatsApp though.”

“I know”, Eric nudged the younger man next to him. “That’s what matters.”

“Listen”, Dele continued, “you can’t say your life is a shit storm, we all have pressure, to be better, to compete, you’ve been doing it all your life, you can’t let a few fucked up months mess you up.”

“Hmmm”, Eric sounded, mostly in agreement.

“I mean what don’t you have, mate? What are you missing? You have more money than you know what to do with, you have an amazing family, fuck I wish I had an overbearing dad rather than one that walked away, you have friends who love you, dogs who love you, do they, I don’t know—“

“OK, OK—“

“Maybe lose the beard, that might help, I don’t know if you’re deliberately trying to make yourself ugly or what—“

Eric let out a groan that let Dele know it was time to stop.

Dele touched Eric’s cold knee, his way to signalling an apology was on its way.

“Listen, I’m sorry I ranted earlier.”

“Yep.”

“It was for the reasons I mentioned.”

“I remember them.” Eric put his arm around Dele’s slim shoulders.

“I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I won’t.”

“You just said you’re going to Barca.”

“Fuck off, Del.”

Dele let out a laugh, that giggle that always warmed Eric to the core, the one that bounced around the room and landed back in Dele’s chest, ready for another go at any time.

“You know I’m used to people leaving me”, Dele said as a sudden continuation and it took Eric by surprise.

“I don’t think you’re used to it, I think you’ve had to endure it and you’re stronger for it.”

“That sounds nicer”, Dele replied.

“And you also have more money than you need and a great family and a dog and friends who love you.”

Dele looked at Eric quietly for what seemed like minutes. “Do I?” he finally said, not really a question.

Eric nodded his head slowly.

“You know”, Dele ventured carefully, “they say you only lose your temper with the ones you love.”

“Who says that, I’ve never heard that”, Eric tried with a straight face before breaking into a grin.

Dele turned his body towards Eric and brought his hand to the pale man’s face, palm resting on his cheek, part smooth, part coarse.

“What are you doing?” Eric asked quietly, with Dele’s eyes burrowing into his own.

“I will touch you if I want to”, Dele said quietly, determinedly.

Slowly, Dele leaned his face towards Eric, surveying the response in the hooded eyes, luckily not one of panic, or sadness. Slowly, Dele pressed his lips against Eric’s, two smooth surfaces creating friction, the touch soft yet firm, gentle yet needy, with a layer of hope.

Thank fuck the door is locked, Dele smiled to himself as he deepened the kiss and felt Eric’s hands move to the nape of his neck.

 _He won’t leave._  
_You won’t lose him._

But it’s the hope.

It’s the hope that kills you.

 

_\- Fin -_


End file.
